Mind Over Matter
by Gracielinn
Summary: Can Wyatt help Lucy fulfill her birthday wish? (TFP)


Mind Over Matter

 _Note #1: This Lucy POV one shot is a sequel to my Halloween fic "Little Pumpkins," set a little over two years after that one._

 _Note #2: This is in response to the following Timeless Fanfic Prompt: There's just one thing Lucy wants for her birthday._

" _Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter..." - Jack Benny_

Lucy was startled awake by the touch of a small, chubby hand patting her cheek. Tiredly blinking the sleep from her eyes, she smiled to see two-year-old Ethan gazing intently at her with big blue eyes exactly like his daddy's. Lucy had seen the very same expression on her husband's handsome face countless times over the years, and thought it was just too adorable reflected in miniature on her young son. Clearing her throat, she asked softly, "Hey, little man, what's going on?" as she yawned and stretched, and the smile slid from her face in a heartbeat when the toddler solemnly confided, "Mama, Daydee uh oh."

Instantly wide awake, Lucy's heart sank. She would have sworn after plopping down on the sofa, she had only closed her eyes for a second, well, okay, possibly just a couple minutes, which unfortunately, was definitely more than enough time for Daisy Logan to get into some kind of mischief. She loved her first born fiercely, but the four-year-old possessed such energy and imagination (and an already scary intelligence) that at times, Lucy wondered if she and Wyatt would survive raising their daughter to adulthood. Just the thought alone of a teenage Daisy was enough to send shivers of dread down her spine. Sighing in resignation, she bent down to pick up the little boy, and settling him on her hip, blew a raspberry on his soft cheek to make him giggle. "Mama, tickles," he squealed, putting his hand on her lips and laughing harder when Lucy pretended to nibble on the tiny fingers.

Still grinning when she and Ethan stepped into the kitchen, Lucy came to an abrupt halt as she gazed in stunned silence at the scene before her ( _oh, my goodness, Daisy, what have you done?_ ). The room reeked of peanut butter. Globs and smears of the brown stuff were everywhere: on the kitchen counter and front of the cupboard, the floor, and all over the four-year-old. "See, Mama, Daydee uh oh," her son whispered helpfully as he tucked his dark head against her neck, and Lucy thought the two-year-old's observation might be the understatement of the century.

"Daisy?" she managed in a strangled whisper, "Oh, sweetie, what are you doing?" Her daughter gasped at the sound of her mother's voice, whirling around with a distinctly guilty look on her face, and after nearly falling off the chair she had dragged over to the counter, somewhat defiantly tried to brazen out the situation. "Mommy! You scared me! Me and Ethan was hungry, so I gots us a peanut butter sandwich," and Lucy closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten ( _deep breaths, Mommy, she was just trying to be helpful_ ). In a very quiet voice, she instructed, "Amy Elizabeth Logan, put down the spoon and don't move a muscle," and when the child began to protest, Lucy admonished tightly, "Not another word, Daisy," and wisely, her daughter merely murmured, "Yes, Ma'am," and dropping the spoon on the counter, stood perfectly still.

After hastily depositing Ethan in his highchair with some Cheerios and a sippy cup, Lucy grabbed the roll of paper towels and gingerly lifting her down to the floor, knelt in front of Daisy, and started to wordlessly, methodically wipe her face and hands, ignoring the pleading expression on her daughter's face. "Hey, Mommy? I'm sorry I made a mess, but I told you, me and Ethan was hungry, and you was sleeping," the four-year-old began, but fell silent at a warning glance from her mother. Lucy huffed in frustration as the more she rubbed, the worse it got. Who knew peanut butter was this slimy and sticky when it wasn't covering a piece of bread? "Mama? More?" Ethan asked hopefully from across the room, and Lucy turned to see her son happily bang the highchair tray hard enough to make the few pieces of cereal he had left bounce off and hit the floor. Which of course they did, because her kitchen wasn't already a disaster. "Ethan's making a mess, huh, Mommy?" Daisy thoughtfully offered, probably hoping to divert her mother's attention from her own personal peanut butter debacle.

Lucy ignored her comment, which was no easy task, considering the child was trying to turn the full effect of big dark eyes on her mother in an attempt to distract her, the least of Lucy's worries at the moment. It was no use, she sighed in defeat, the paper towels were just making it worse, which meant a bath was necessary before Lucy could even think about the condition of her kitchen. Dropping the clump of gross paper towels in the sink, she plucked her son out of his highchair, and holding him securely on her hip with one hand, and taking her daughter's arm with the other, shepherded her offspring upstairs.

Commanding Daisy to stand still and not touch anything, she lifted Ethan into his crib and handed him a couple of his favorite picture books, and requested, "Sweetie, can you read your books like a big boy so Mommy can give Daisy a bath, please?" Her growing frustration melted just a little bit when he looked up from examining a book with a tiny replica of Wyatt Logan's dimpled grin and answered agreeably, "Okay, Mama." Lucy dusted a hasty kiss on the top of his head and escorted her daughter into the bathroom ( _great, every room in the house will smell like peanut butter_ ).

While warm water filled the tub, she carefully undressed the preschooler, and held her small hand as she climbed into the tub. Looking up expectantly, Daisy asked, "Can I have bubbles, please, Mommy?" and her face fell when her mother shook her head, "Not this time, Daisy," and Lucy bit back a grin when the little girl sighed dramatically and batting her long dark eyelashes, responded, "But I really like bubbles, Mommy." Coughing to hide the laugh that escaped in spite of herself, Lucy said, "Nice try, little girl, but that flirty stuff only works on your daddy, not me," and grinned when the four-year-old sniffed indignantly and her lower lip began to stick out. Ignoring the (cute) little pout, she continued to calmly wash the peanut butter from a resigned Daisy, who sat quietly as Lucy began to gently soap and rinse her long, dark curls.

Bath time was usually about an hour before bedtime in the Logan home, so Lucy wasn't surprised when her daughter's eyes began to droop and she yawned a couple times, even though it was only late afternoon. Fingers crossed, both little ones would nap for at least an hour or so while she cleaned up the kitchen, but first, wiping the water from Daisy's face, Lucy reminded her, "Sweetie, next time you get hungry, ask me for a snack, even if Mommy falls asleep, okay? It was nice of you to try and make a sandwich for your brother, but that's a job for Mommy or Daddy, okay?" Wide eyed, the child nodded eagerly, "I'm sorry, Mommy, that I messed up the peanut butter," and Lucy smiled at the four-year-old's fervent apology. As the water began to drain, she carefully lifted Daisy out of the tub and setting her on the bathmat, wrapped a warm, fluffy towel around her small, slippery body, and began to dry her off.

"All right, little one, let's get you something to wear," and during a quick detour through her son's room, smiled at the sight of him already sleeping soundly, one chubby arm curled possessively around his favorite stuffed dinosaur (looking remarkably like the way his father slept with her, she noted) before making her way to her daughter's bedroom. Lucy set Daisy down long enough to briskly towel dry her thick hair before deftly gathering it into a loose braid and slipping a clean Tinkerbell nightie over her head. "Okay, sweet girl, under the covers now, time for a little nap. I love you," and pressed a kiss on the child's damp hair. "Love you, too, Mommy," she whispered before rolling over on her side and drifting off.

Suddenly weary, even after her brief catnap earlier, Lucy sighed inwardly thinking about the mess in the kitchen waiting for her, and checking her phone, realized if she hurried, it might be possible to have a little "me" time before Daisy and Ethan woke from their naps and it was time to start dinner. There was a nice, thick novel on the table beside her bed that she had yet to even open, and it would be wonderful to sit down and read for even a little while before Wyatt got home.

She quickly straightened up the bathroom, and pausing in front of the mirror over the sink when something caught her eye, Lucy stopped short, and peering closely at her reflection, was horrified to notice not one but _two_ gray hairs hiding in plain sight amidst her dark, wavy tresses. She groaned aloud, "Are you kidding me? Gray hair? I'm not even forty yet...I am so not ready for this," and closing her eyes, leaned on the sink and inhaled slowly, trying not to freak out. Unfortunately, as it so happened, Lucy _would_ be turning forty next week, and although it felt somewhat superficial and self-absorbed, she really was dreading her next birthday.

Forty was one of those "milestone" years, and while logically, she knew it was just a number, secretly, it seemed to her to be so...old. For heaven's sake, she had a child still in diapers and another not even in school yet. Opening her eyes, Lucy leaned in even closer to the mirror and examined her face painstakingly ( _oh no, were those wrinkles at the corner of each eye_?) and saw the same old Lucy staring back at her wearing a worried expression " _which only tended to encourage all those little lines,"_ she thought ruefully.

Ironically, her gorgeous, younger-than-her-by-a-few-months husband had already found his first gray hair just last week, and laughed, _laughed_ , and shrugged unconcernedly. Of course, to a guy as good looking as Wyatt, who still had a deliciously muscular body, what was a gray hair here and there? She had no doubt Wyatt Logan would still be sinfully handsome (and sexy) when they were both old and gray. Looking down at herself in dismay, Lucy was painfully aware of the drying smears of peanut butter dotting her faded long-sleeved tee (an old Texas Longhorns shirt of her husband's), random wet patches on her well-worn jeans from Daisy's unexpected bath in the middle of the day, a chip here and there in the polish on her toes.

Glancing back at the mirror, Lucy saw that her hair was starting to escape from the careless topknot she'd gathered it in this morning, and yep, yesterday's mascara was just about gone. " _God, Lucy Logan, you are as far away from sexy as a woman can get._ " She allowed herself a few seconds of self pity, then shrugged in resignation and went downstairs. After all, her current level of sexiness, no matter how low, had absolutely nothing to do with her ability to clean up what was awaiting her in the kitchen.

Purposefully ignoring the mess all around her, though the smell of peanut butter still hung in the air, Lucy walked over to the table, and dropping heavily into a chair, pulled out her phone and touched the "text" icon. Easily finding Jiya's name, she tapped out a message to her friend:

 _Hey, are you busy?_

Glancing around the room a little despondently as she estimated how long it would take to clean up her daughter's little snack experiment, she looked down when her phone chimed faintly:

 _No, just got back from lunch with our husbands. What's up? BTW, yours looks dreamy today in that dark blue shirt..._

Lucy smirked at that and responded:

 _I know, I love that shirt on him 'cause it matches his eyes...Jiya, do you think 40 is old?_

 _What? No, of course not, Lucy, what gave you that idea?_

She sighed. It really was so shallow of her to feel this way, but she just couldn't seem to help it.

 _Lucy, you there?_

 _Yeah, sorry. I guess I've been so happy and busy with Wyatt and the kids the past few years, turning 40 this year kind of snuck up on me..._

 _And?_

 _Well, lately, I've been feeling a little, God, this is so embarrassing, NOT sexy. I mean, I still adore being with Wyatt that way, but it's so difficult to explain..._

 _You guys still go at it pretty regular?_

 _Jiya!_

 _Hey, you started this conversation...so, tell me, you and Wyatt still have lots of good sexy times?_

 _My face is so red right now. Yes, he's not the problem at all. It's me. I just want to feel, maybe, I don't know, more desirable, more..._

 _Do-able? Enticing? Hot? Any or all of the above?_

 _Yeah, it's ridiculous, I know, but I think I just want to look in the mirror and see a woman who knows what she wants and is confident she will get it, if that makes any kind of sense..._

 _Not ridiculous at all. 40 is one of those weird ages for a woman: not middle aged, but not a young twenty-something either._

 _Exactly._

 _Okay, you'll be happy to hear I know what's bothering you, Lucy Logan. You've lost your "mojo."_

 _Huh?_

 _Your mojo–you know, your sexy sense of self, a certain attitude, and yes, the feeling of confidence that when your husband looks at you, hell, yes, he wants to do you :) and often._

 _Still blushing, but intrigued...mojo? Really?_

 _Yep, and something else to consider, Lucy: you spend all day with 2 kids under the age of 5, you and Wyatt are real homebodies who don't get out much, and please, please, don't take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you did your hair and put on makeup during the week?_

Lucy stared wide eyed at her phone in shock as her friend's blunt words sank in. _"Jiya was right,"_ she thought in amazement, _"Not only did I once have mojo, but apparently I lost it, and now I want it back."_

 _Lucy?_

 _Yeah, still here. Jiya, that really makes a lot of sense. Thank you so much for the advice. Think I have a pretty good idea now what I want for my 40_ _th_ _birthday..._

 _Atta girl–so proud of you, good luck ;)_

A few short hours later, Lucy was standing at the now-sparkling kitchen counter putting together a salad to go with the spaghetti and meatballs simmering on the stove when she heard the front door open. The sound of little feet and shrieks of "Daddy" filled the house as Daisy and Ethan greeted their father enthusiastically. "Hey, sweetheart, something smells great," Wyatt praised, walking into the kitchen and bending to kiss her cheek, a slightly awkward move considering he was holding their son on his hip and their daughter was clinging tenaciously to his pants leg.

"Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and Italian bread," she recited dutifully, and gasped when her husband leaned in close to her and murmured, "You know I love your spaghetti, Mrs. Logan," and turning quickly, she pressed a hard kiss to his lips before grinning, "Yes, I'm well aware, Mr. Logan, all just part of my evil plan," and observed with satisfaction one dark brow quirking upwards in amused interest.

Flashing her a dimpled grin, Wyatt cleared his throat and sat at the table with a child on each knee, patiently listening as they told him about their day. Naturally, Daisy went first, and when the four-year-old paused long enough to take a breath, Wyatt kissed her cheek quickly before looking at Ethan and asking, "How about you, buddy? Were you a good boy for Mommy?" "Daddy, Daydee uh oh," the two-year-old earnestly informed his father, who frowned slightly at a rather indelicate snort from his wife. Lucy turned around just in time to see their daughter's cheeks redden as a bemused Wyatt smiled distractedly at Ethan when the toddler patted him on the cheek and added, "Mommy sad."

Taking pity on the confused expression her husband wore, Lucy said casually, "I'll tell you later. Why don't you go change out of that suit and tie before dinner's ready, about ten minutes?" After directing a searching glance her way, Wyatt obediently scooped up the little ones and headed upstairs. Once dinner was finished, Lucy cleared the table and began washing up while Wyatt dried and put away the dishes. They worked side by side in comfortable silence when suddenly he asked, "Sweetheart, what would you like for your birthday next week? Anything special?"

Caught off guard, Lucy merely stared at him blankly as her mind unwillingly went back and forth between her little pity party earlier and the conversation with Jiya. "Um, I don't know, guess I sort of forgot about my birthday this year, to be honest," she fibbed and kept her eyes on the plate she was washing. If her husband thought she sounded a little off, he didn't let on, and suggested maybe they could invite Rufus, Jiya, and Micah over that evening to help celebrate. "Sure, that would be great," and she hastily changed the subject by asking about his day at Mason.

Later, after the children were fast asleep, Wyatt was already sitting in bed, covers pulled up over his lap, scrolling through his phone when Lucy came out of the bathroom. Shedding her clothes in front of the hamper, she automatically grabbed an old shirt from Wyatt's side of the dresser and dropped it over her bare body, blushing just a little in pleasure at the definitely interested look on his face.

"All right, Mrs. Logan, I've been patient long enough. Why don't you get over here and tell your husband what's on your mind?" and patted the bed invitingly. Taking a deep breath, Lucy scooted under the covers and snuggled up against Wyatt after he turned off the lamp beside the bed. Sliding further down beside her, he curled around Lucy and waited quietly for his wife to share her thoughts. For a few delightful moments, she savored the gentle strength of his warm arms holding her securely and the steady beat of his heart under her cheek before swallowing hard and starting to speak.

"Wyatt?" she asked hesitantly, "This might sound crazy, and probably sad, but do you think forty is old? What I mean, I guess, is do you think I'm old because I'm going to be forty next week, and I found a couple of gray hairs today, and I think I'm getting wrinkles around my eyes, and can't help but wonder if maybe my life is half over..." and her voice trailed off as to her dismay, her eyes began to fill with tears and a big lump suddenly appeared in her throat.

"Oh, Lucy, sweetheart, please don't cry, shh," Wyatt consoled as he pulled her closer to him and softly kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry, I know this is so silly and self-absorbed," she sniffed as he tipped her chin up to gaze into her tear-soaked, miserable eyes.

"Hey," her husband scolded gently, "That's my wife you're talking about, a woman I love very much, so don't be saying bad things about her, okay?" he teased, and when she nodded her head shakily, tenderly wiped her tears and answered, "Lucy, forty is just a number, and has nothing to do with you or how I feel about you, all right?" and when Lucy smiled tremulously up at him, he kissed her until she was breathless and asked with a naughty twinkle in his dark blue eyes, "Now, would you like a demonstration of just how much I love my 'going to be forty years old next week' wife?" and without waiting for her response, swiftly rolled her under him and proceeded to thoroughly show her, more than once, how he felt about her...

 _Epilogue_

Their suite at the Petite Auberge, a bed and breakfast tucked away in a quiet Nob Hill neighborhood that Wyatt had found for their special "Mommy and Daddy only" weekend away was charming and spacious, with a fireplace and a very roomy king-sized bed that Lucy eyed with interest when they arrived on Saturday morning. Daisy and Ethan were spending the night with Uncle Rufus and Aunt Jiya, their birthday gift to Lucy. Standing in the doorway, she smiled lovingly at her husband as he set their suitcase down beside the dresser before flopping down on the bed and gazing expectantly at her.

"Well, Mrs. Logan, what do you think?" and grunted softly when she immediately pounced on him and began peppering his face with tiny kisses. "Why, Lucy Logan, I'm scandalized. It's the middle of the day, not even dark yet, and I think you're trying to take advantage of me," and offered her a wicked grin when she readily assured him, "Oh, yes, Mr. Logan, I promise, you will most definitely be taken advantage of many times and in many ways during the next two days, starting right now," and she giggled at his appreciative, "Yes, Ma'am" as he eagerly began helping her out of her clothes.

The sun was beginning to slant warmly through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow around the room. A contented Lucy tucked her cheek against Wyatt's bare chest as he cuddled her closer to him. "Hey, Lucy? I've been thinking about how much the idea of being forty was bothering you..." and at her weak protest, kissed her firmly and playfully chastised, "Now, let me finish," and smirked when she blushed and pressed her lips together before nodding her acquiescence.

"Now, as I was starting to tell you, I gave the matter some thought, and came up with a list of other words besides the dreaded forty that begin with the letter "F" that describe what you mean to me. Would you like to hear some?" and at her tentative nod, gazed at her approvingly, and running his hand slowly up and down her back, took a deep breath, and began, "Okay, here goes. _Feminine_ because you are always a lady; _Funny_ for the way you make me laugh; _Freckles_ since I love yours and you don't; _Fierce_ , which is the way you love me and our children; _Fireworks_ for the times when I really piss you off, which thank goodness, isn't _too_ often; _Flexible_ and that one certainly speaks for itself; _Future_ , the one we fought so hard for together; _Family_ for the beautiful daughter and son you have given me; and most importantly, _Forever_ , something I want more than anything, with you, Lucy Preston Logan, my wife, the mother of my children, the other half of my heart."

Overwhelmed by her emotions and blinking furiously through her tears, Lucy tenderly touched her lips to Wyatt's and gazing into his dark blue eyes, whispered, "Thank you, love, for being my husband and the father of my children, and giving me the best birthday present I've ever had. I love you, Wyatt Logan, so very much, and I want 'forever' with you, too," and then the room grew quiet. The last thought Lucy had before drifting off to sleep lovingly wrapped in her husband's arms was, whatever it was called, that certain something she thought was lost or had slipped away, was back, and forty really was just a number.

 _A/N: Yeah, those "milestone" birthdays can really mess with your head, right? (Personally, 40 didn't bother me nearly as much as 30 did, for some odd reason, lol.) Today's visit to the "Little Pumpkins" universe is for emilycares, who's a big fan of this version of Wyatt and Lucy (and their kids). And lastly, I want to note this is my 20th fic for the Timeless fandom, a pretty cool milestone in its own way, I think. Thanks very much to everyone for their continuing support and encouragement. It's so much fun to write and read all these stories while we are all eagerly awaiting Season Two :))_


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